So Who's Going To Watch You Die?
by ERAvulgaris
Summary: One-shot Song-Fic. Set Post New Moon if Jacob hadn't shown up at the cliffs and the Cullens had remained alienated. Please Rate/Review! All commentary welcome.


**This was a little bout of inspiration from a song that means the world to me. You might know it, you might not. This scene was based on an independent filmmakers' video to this song, and I just could not get the image out of my head. Hopefully you'll see it the way I did. Kudos if you can guess the song.**

**Summary: Post-NewMoon; if Jacob hadn't saved Bella from the cliff and the whole Cullen family were alienated from each other.**

(EPOV)

Nightmares. Ironic how even though I can't physically sleep, I still managed to have them. Even more ironic, I needed to have these nightmares, despite the torture they put me through.

I sat alone again in the abandoned mansion that my family and I used to reside in Forks. Not any longer. After I pushed them to leave, we all separated, unable to return back to what we once were. We could never be what we once were. I wanted to feel remorse for it, but I felt nothing. I had lost everything when I had lost her.

I was months too late. After I had broken down from the withdrawal, I went back to Forks, ready to go on my knees just to be in close proximity of her. Maybe if I had stayed in contact with Alice still I would have found out beforehand, at least somewhat prepared. But finding out from the blurry thoughts of her father, I refused to believe it. She had jumped off a cliff, took herself away from me. Looking at her tombstone, I still couldn't believe it. She had to be here! Somewhere in this small town.

I ran straight to the mansion, went through every dusty room I could find. Nothing. I went through the sharpest pain, a thousand times worse than that of my transformation. And then I felt nothing. And that was the worst pain of it all. I could not speak anymore, all words were lost. I couldn't eat, I couldn't speak, and I wished I couldn't exist.

So here I am, still sitting here in this mansion. The high ceilings which once felt so free, now felt so empty and unnecessary. Preparing myself for this sick eagerness I felt. I realized that everytime I played the piano I saw her. A figment of my imagination, but for that time her presence intoxicated me, the exact brand of heroin for that high I needed.

My fingers pressed the keys lightly but steadily, anticipating her image to bestow on me, a slow but rhythmic beat. Higher and lower the notes went, a new melody I started playing.

And then there she was. My lungs felt free again but my heart had painfully torn open. Whenever I played her lullaby, the image of her was the first time she came to meet my family. Beautiful and nervous, a blush sprouting from everywhere. This image of her was totally different. Still beautiful as only she could be, this image was paler than my skin and painfully thin. Sunken red eyes that matched her full bottom lip. She was wearing a white button up shirt with small boy shorts, showing just how bony she had become. Most of all she still had tears in her eyes. The pain intensified a hundred fold.

The image slowly moved up to me, and she put out her milky palm to my face. _**Un peu?**_ Big black letters of the words scribbled on her hand. _A little?_ What did she mean by that? I looked at her confusedly, my tempo going slower, so I would have more of this blissful torture.

She angrily wiped the tears from her eyes and took a black paintbrush I had never seen before. Dipping it in a paint can, the image began writing huge letters on the wall. _**Beaucoup?**__A lot?_ I still didn't get it and she could tell. The tears started coming in thin streams down her face, how much more could I take of this.

And then the image had done something it had never done before. She touched me, and I swear I could almost feel her warmth. I was reaching the brink of insanity, although honestly I didn't know if I had already gone to that point or not. Her thin arms wrapped around my neck from behind, and on her forearm was the question _**passionément? **__Passionately? _I turned my neck around to face her, giving the most pleading look I could. I'm trying so hard, please help me understand! Say anything, please! The self-loathing I already though I had filled heightened even further, with the horrified expression on her face.

She started circling around the room, panicked and hurried. I changed the melody of the tune into something slower, begging whatever God was out there to show her some mercy. She sat down in the old sheet covered chair in front of the piano, holding her head in her hands, trying so hard to breathe. How I wanted to hold her, how I wanted this pain that I caused her to go away. What was she doing to me?

Out of nowhere, a boxcutter appeared in her hand. What was she going to do with it? But she suddenly answered my question. She began carving letters into her outer thigh, crying out as she went. NO! I wanted to stop her, stop playing so I could shaker her to stop hurting herself, because it was hurting me. But I couldn't. I couldn't speak. So I watched. The letters turned into another question. _**à la folie? **__Madly? _WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN!? THERE IS NO PATTERN IN THE MEASUREMENTS. She started sobbing into herself.

I couldn't handle it anymore. I jumped out of the seat and rushed to her. To my surprise, she didn't disappear like she normally would've. I shook her. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN!? WHAT IS HAPPENING?" , the words croaked out of my voice harshly, but she didn't flinch. She looked up, the pain still evident in her eyes. She leaned into my ear and with her soft bell-chiming like voice whispered. "Love is watching someone die." And with that my whole world came crashing.

She got up from the chair and started walking to the bathroom. I watched her retreating figure. I couldn't let her go this time. I ran into the bathroom. Her hand was on the mirror, a small inscription written in lipstick. _**Il m'aime pas du tout. **__He loves me not at all. _In the mirror I could see everything. I could see her taking those steps off the cliff, gasping for breath as she drowned in the water. I could see her weak form in the hospital, not even trying to fight for her life. "NO!" I screamed, how could I ever let her think I did not love her. That she wasn't every breath in my lung or thought in my brain. I reached out to her but this time she disappeared. The markings however, never left.

I felt so weak from this time, so helpless and so weak. When would it ever get easier? I'd never find out. I sat back on the piano and once again started playing.

I only knew two things. I'd never stop playing and no one would ever watch me die.


End file.
